Wait to Live
by ymaface
Summary: Sansa ties up the men in her life. AU. Mild spoilers


_Sansa ties up the men in her life. AU. Contains spoilers and mild violence. _

* * *

First there was Joffrey. She waited until the castle was asleep before she slipped into his royal rooms, the kingsguard outside dozing on his feet. She found him abed but the fury on his face disappeared as she gently spoke, "I am the daughter bitch of a wolf, come here to confess my treason." She appeared honest and chaste, with her wide eyes beseeching him. His grip on her arm was painful as he dragged her down onto the bed but she suffered his touch silently. Soon, far too soon, he was lost in his own pleasure and she was able to truss his hands up to the headboard.

"Untie me," he commanded. His breath was drawn and ragged but below he was still soft. _He'll be fathering no little lions with that_, she thought, taking a wicked pleasure in his helplessness as she straddled him.

"I thought you were my golden prince and that you would love me until the end of days," she murmured, lazily taking hold of one of his finely plump pillows. He was struggling now but the bonds tightened with every pull. "But you are nothing but a pretender. A monster."

She held the pillow firm against his thrashings. It was surprising really, how quickly it took for the life to leave him. She left him as he lay and threw the golden Baratheon crown into the hearth.

* * *

Next there was the Hound and seducing him was just far too easy to take any real pleasure from it. She waited until he was full in his cups and then gently coaxed him back to his dank little chamber, whispering of little birds and stolen kisses. His steps were uneven and she was able to push him back onto the bed with only a slight push. He didn't even seem to notice when she tied up his hands, or if he did he was unable to stop her. His breeches felt rough against her thighs when she straddled him and she could smell the sour wine on his breath.

When she looked into his face she saw the tears running down his cheeks. The burnt side of his face looked terrible in the candlelight, the raw flesh prickly and sore. His eyes were clouded over and he couldn't (or wouldn't) meet her gaze. Gently, she leant forward to place a kiss on his poor ruined cheek.

"I'm no longer afraid to look."

He had saved her from the mob and the worst of Joffrey's cruelty. In his own dark way he had been a truer knight than any of the others; a source of strange protection in the midst of lions. Yet his greatest gift had been to open her eyes to his cruelty. She would never again flinch away from the horror in life. _They're all liars here...and every one better than you_.

He slipped into a drunken sleep and she left him without another word.

* * *

Tyrion Lannister was far too smart to fall for any of her ploys but even he could not resist when she bared herself so openly to him. She removed her shift slowly, letting the creamy flesh beneath be revealed inch by inch. By the time she was undressed his mismatched eyes were hungry and she lay back on the bed enticingly. Once again his hand was at her breast but this time her face was steel and she did not cringe away. He asked her why she was doing this but required no real answer as he kissed the skin on her neck, obviously too far gone to use that big brain of his. She lay still as he undressed and he chuckled dryly when she tied up his hands. "My lady..."

She felt pity for this man. He wanted to believe so strongly that she wanted him that he was willing to put his trust in her. They had been forced into their marriage but even now she believed in his intentions. He longed for marriage, for a family of his own, to prove to everyone that he was no less of a man. He craved normality almost as much as she had craved her freedom. She took her time in removing his boots and breeches and once he was half naked she sat up.

"I was a child."

Her mask flickered and in that second he understood. He pulled against his bonds and the hunger was replaced by fury. "I didn't ask for it."

"You could've said no," she answered coolly. He could've have whisked her away with some of that Lannister gold, restored her to her family, restored her to Winterfell. Perhaps she might've perished along with her family but the prospect was not an undesirable one. She stood from the bed and dressed herself as he struggled. She would leave him here, half naked, to be found by some unsuspecting servant. His humiliation, only a tenth of what she had suffered under the Lannister fist, would taste sweet.

* * *

She would not stop until she hurt Petyr Baelish. For weeks he watched her, trained her every move, and would give her that knowingly smug look as though she was an experiment gone right. He had taught her how to command the pawns around her until she too was a player in the game. He turned her steel into pretty cold marble. He was grooming her for success and in turn for his own deprived pleasures. One night, as he pressed another un-fatherly kiss to her lips, she pushed him back onto her bed. She had to endure his touch before he let her string him up but by that time she was hungry for vengeance. Before straddling him she slowly pulled out the dagger concealed beneath her pillow for this very reason. His eyes widened at the sight and she was pleased to see him swallow nervously. It felt good to have this much power over him for once.

"You've taught me well," she praised quietly. "But I believe I've outgrown you."

She pressed the tip of the knife to his neck and leant forward so that she might peer into his grey eyes. She wanted to see pain there but all she saw was anger.

"Always have you lived in the shadows of greater men. My mother gave you her maidenhead, but she _loved_ my father. She was never yours. If she were alive today she would despise and scorn you."

There. She saw a flash of pain shoot across his face and it warmed her heart. She hated this man for own suffering but also for staking a claim on her mother's affections; _only Cat_. Her father was dead, her brothers too, so it fell to her to avenge Catelyn Tully's honour. She tore his throat to ribbons, watching as the crimson blood wept down his chest and pooled on the sheets beneath them. She had no skill with the blade and so it was a messy execution but the sharp metallic smell was glorious all the same. She left him there, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling and his breeches still strained. She did not look back.

* * *

She never once tied up Jon Snow. She liked the feel of his hands on her skin too much, teasing and delighting her in ways she couldn't imagine. She would straddle him and deliberately trace the long scars on his chest until he growled and flipped them over. Sometimes he would kiss her neck, her lips, her chest, until she was gasping for breath. He was a good man; _brave and gentle and strong. _The kind of man her father had wanted for her.

She never spoke about the others, taking a quiet pride in her actions. She had sought out and found her own absolution. She didn't want to taint her love for Jon with their sins. Jon had his secrets and she had hers, but they were utterly dedicated to each other. His gentleness alone had thawed out her icy heart. His black cloak meant that she could never be his in a literal sense but alone in her bed chamber it mattered little.

"If only I could tether you to the bed," Sansa remarked, watching as he dressed one morning. His answering kiss was long and tender.

"I'm tethered to you always."


End file.
